


Treat Him Right

by madame_faust



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bearded Dwarf Women, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Marriage, Dwarves, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_faust/pseuds/madame_faust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a prompt on the Hobbit Kink Meme: "Bofur is protective of his little brother. He just needs to work on his shovel talk." http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=25208181#t25208181</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treat Him Right

It took Thyra about ten minutes to realize Bofur was threatening her. Then it took all her might to bite back the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. Well, wasn't that just the dearest thing?

Turn-about was fair play, she supposed. She had it on good authority from her little brothers that they'd ambushed Bombur on his way home from work a few nights past and given him a firm talking-to about how they'd like him to treat their dear, beloved eldest sister and what they'd do about it if he didn't live up to their standards. Bombur reassured her that he'd nodded all very solemnly when Túfi, the youngest, stood on a stool and waved his little fist about declaring that he'd give Bombur a sharp thump on the nose if he, 'Weren't of a mind of 'have hisself.'

She owed Bofur the same courtesy, even if he was twice as tall and thrice as old as Túfi.

"The thing you got to 'member 'bout Bombur is he don't always speak up for hisself," Bofur said, twirling his pick by the handle dexterously - the display was more impressive than it was fear-making, but Thyra kept her eyes on the sharp bit of it and she hoped they were wide enough to look frightened. Biting her tongue kept her from giggling aloud. "An' he don't like to cause a fuss, y'see, not when he thinks it's not worth all the breath he'd waste in fighting, so you got to ask him, sometimes, what he thinks on a matter. Don't just go along thinking he's up for anything. 'Cos there's times he'd rather stay home of an evening, quiet-like."

Thyra wondered whether or not Bofur was reminding her or himself. She was not the one who incited a pub-wide brawl drunkenly howling like a wounded dog when a group of visiting Blacklock peddlers started a song. To be sure, their voices weren't exactly music to the Maker's ears, but there wasn't a reason to tease them over it. Nor should he have hopped up on his chair when asked if he'd like to settle their difference of musical opinions with his fists and declared, 'Oh, aye, me and me kinfolk'll lay you out flat - just as flat as your voices, eh Bombur?'

Bombur, good-hearted soul he was, offered to stay after the fight was concluded, mopping up bloodstains and righting tables. ''Least he stopped 'em singing,' he said in Bofur's defense - Bofur, who was unconscious and woke sporting an impressive black eye. The would-be troubadours all walked out with no worse injury than pulled hair and bruised knuckles. 

"So, you got to give him a chance to say his bit," Bofur concluded. He seemed to lose his train of thought and in doing so, dropped his pick and the head of it struck him on the toe of his boot. "Ouch! So - ah, that hurt a bit - anyhow...do that. Or...erm..."

"I'm sure I'll regret it," Thyra supplied, wincing at him. "Alright?"

"Sure, sure, thanks," Bofur said, shifting his weight to his other foot. "Regret it, aye. Just the word I wanted. Anyhow...see that you...do. Er, what was I saying, lass?"

"Give Bombur the chance to speak his bit and don't walk all over him," Thyra recounted. "'Fore that it were something 'bout, make sure he eats regular and don't be serving him tarts that're cooked up with too much nutmeg as he don't like that."

"Just so!" Bofur nodded enthusiastically, grinning at Thyra brilliantly - once again, taking some of the sting out of his attempt at intimidating her into being a fine wife for his younger brother. It was awfully dear of him to care so much, showed the proper amount of family feeling, but Thyra was well-trained in the art of cookery and she'd not over-spiced a pie since she'd been too young to plait her whiskers. "Feed him up right, listen when he's of a mind to talk, and...oh, there was something else...I drawed up a list, but I forgot it. Just treat him right, eh? He's a good lad, deserves that much."

"I will," Thyra vowed, eyeing the pick on the floor, then waited expectantly. When Bofur just nodded, satisfied, she gave a pointed cough and tilted her head toward the pick. "Er. Or you'll give me what-for, eh?"

"Oh! Right! Right so, I'll give you what for at that," he said, hefting the pick and waving it vaguely at her. "That's done, then - how 'bout a drink?"

"I could do," Thyra linked arms with him and kissed him on the cheek. "If I'm half so good to Bombur as you are, he ought to consider himself a very lucky dwarf indeed."

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe it would have been more effective if he'd been holding an actual shovel...


End file.
